


Blame It on the Ice Spats

by gracefulally



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), American Idol RPF, Kris Allen (Musician)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Community: kradamadness, Domestic, M/M, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-01
Updated: 2012-02-01
Packaged: 2017-10-30 11:28:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/331270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracefulally/pseuds/gracefulally
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wolf!Adam is getting ready to leave for an overseas tour. Fox!Kris behaves badly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blame It on the Ice Spats

Adam knows Kris en­joys be­ing a fox more than a hu­man. This doesn’t mean he un­der­stands, but he tries. However, his at­tempts to un­der­stand the dif­fer­en­ces between his sto­ic wolf and Kris’ feisty fox ut­terly fail when Kris acts on his frus­tra­tions in his al­ter-form. Price­less ward­robe pieces feel the wrath of claws and one-of-kind de­sign­er shoes be­come chew toys for a fox who oth­er­wise claims to not en­joy chew toys. Adam longs for the day that he leaves for tour and his life isn’t im­plod­ing from neg­at­ive en­ergy.

“Adam, I’m so sorry,” Kris says feebly as he kneels on the bed­room floor. Signs of guilt wrack his fea­tures while his antsy fin­gers dance on the tow­el he’s hast­ily thrown over the fox’s handi­work. “Don’t even look. I’ll take ‘em out after you leave.”

The re­morse­ful look in those kind, brown eyes kills Adam, but his fury at the situ­ation makes him spin in his early grave. Adam sets his jaw and bites back his words. He’s de­term­in­ed to not say something stu­pid be­fore he leaves for Ja­pan in less than ten hours, which is why he takes a deep and calm­ing nas­al breath. After a three count, he leaves the room and ex­hales.

“Adam!” Kris calls to him fol­low­ing a startled yelp. “Adam, don’t!”

Adam turns at the edge of the stairs and dir­ects a dark scowl over his shoulder, which halts Kris. “Don’t what ex­actly?” Adam de­mands.

Fid­get­ing, Kris thinks over his re­sponse and shrugs. “I don’t want you to go…” he quietly sup­plies.

“I am aware of your feel­ings,” Adam enun­ci­ates in a de­lib­er­ate and even tone, “and I know how little time we have re­main­ing.” Put­ting his hands to­geth­er, Adam pushes a cyn­ic­al plea through his ten­sion wrought fea­tures. “But you need to let me walk this off. I can’t leave in a bad mood this time. It’s not healthy.”

De­feat looks glum on Kris as he droops and slowly nods. “I’ll go clean up stuff,” he mumbles as he ges­tures back over his shoulder. Kris then lum­bers back in­to the bed­room with a half-hearted self-hug.

Adam’s ache and rage clashes with the earn­est dis­con­nec­tion that he knows Kris feels, which makes Adam nearly trample the dog in his ef­fort to find fresh air. Step­ping out­side and in­to the bed of shrubs around the pool, Adam tosses back his head and closes his eyes as he pulls on his delt­oids. He wiggles his bare toes in­to the damp earth and breathes.

“ _Not mad about clothes. Everything im­port­ant is on the top shelf or packed for Ja­pan,_ ” are his si­lent words be­neath the twi­lit sky.

Minutes pass as Adam mas­sages his shoulders and seeks out a more stable mind­set. The im­me­di­ate an­ger passes and what’s left is more tol­er­able than tep­id bath wa­ter.

Let­ting out a sigh, Adam lets his arms fall to his sides as he stretches his neck. There’s a mat by the door where he gently wipes the loose dirt from his feet. He apo­lo­gizes to the golden re­triev­er with a head rub while mak­ing his way back in­side. His slow as­cent of the stairs be­comes frantic when there’s a heavy thud fol­lowed by a ca­co­phony of noise from the next floor.

“Kris?” Adam prompts, loud and sharp as he hits the top land­ing.

“ _Ow_ , oh crap,” Kris moans in the bed­room and Adam sprints.

Kris is crawl­ing out of a heap in Adam’s spa­cious but cluttered per­son­al closet when Adam reaches him. See­ing the caved shelving and a dazed Kris is enough to make Adam shrill.

“Are you hurt? Did you break your­self? Are you hurt? Do I need to call 9-1-1? Are you hurt?!”

Fret­ting Kris’ mut­ter­ing re­sponse, Adam drags a mostly limp Kris away from the closet dis­as­ter as more items tumble. He digs out his phone and swears at it when the screen doesn’t prop­erly un­lock un­der­neath his messy thumb twitches.

“I’m okay,” Kris feebly man­ages and pulls on Adam to up­right him­self. “Adam, I’m al­right. It just knocked the snot out of me. No big.”

Adam struggles to help Kris to his feet. Phone still in-hand, Adam pulls Kris to rest against him for sup­port. “Are you hurt?” Adam re­peats in con­cern. “Did you break any­thing?”

“Everything but me,” Kris replies with a self-loath­ing grunt.

“ _You_ are the only one that I can’t re­place,” Adam says in ex­as­per­a­tion be­fore hug­ging Kris and res­ol­utely smear­ing a kiss to the side of his flush face. “I don’t even care what you were do­ing—”

“Yeah, you do,” Kris in­ter­rupts with a tight smile and side­ways glance. “You for­got to pack your ice spats.”

Frown­ing, Adam eyes Kris du­bi­ously. “I for­got to pack my ice spats,” he echoes as he tries to pro­cess the words.

“The ones with dia­monds!”

Taken aback, Adam tilts his head. “Those are on the top shelf,” he says slowly.

“Were!” Kris cor­rects with a laugh. “I thought if I jumped from the step stool, I could reach them.”

“You are the only per­son over the age of nine who would think that,” Adam points out with a grim­ace. “Are you sure you’re okay? Noth­ing hurts?”

Kris rolls his eyes. “Well, dang, if I knew there was gonna be an in­spec­tion, I’d be na­ked,” he drawls and leans in­to Adam with a waggle of his brow.

Smirk­ing, Adam fumbles with his phone and sets it to a si­lent ringer be­fore stuff­ing it back in­to his pock­et. “In­spec­tion?” he chor­uses with a thought­ful pause. “No, no na­ked in­spec­tions. This is the na­ked ex­hib­i­tion of the Kris Al­len con­di­tion for people who can smell bruises,” Adam gave Kris a stern look be­fore light­heartedly adding, “and those who make love to naughty foxes.”

Kris’ eyes crinkle when he grins. “That’s pop­u­la­tion: you…plus Fur­ries.”

“Hush,” Adam coos as he ten­derly cups Kris’ face and kisses the corner of Kris’ mouth. “Ex­hib­it your con­di­tion to me,” Adam loftily com­mands with a wave of his hand.

Kris closes his eyes as they roll and he scoffs. “Yeah. Next time,” he be­gins as he pushes away and yanks off his t-shirt with a chuckle, “just say, ‘Show me your boobs.’”


End file.
